Dream Log Entry - 09.10.10 "Death of a Rapper"

There was a Breaking News flash. Rapper Lil' Wayne had died.

One of those crappy MTVBETVH1 "Story of Lil Wayne" type of specials was on the idiot box.  Some male friends and I were watching it together. I was the only girl in the room. I shook my head in disagreement at much of what was being said.

Just as they were discussing his drug habits, his perceived inadequacies, and his failures in their eyes, some old footage of Wayne as a young pre-teen was played. How timely.

It displayed him (high as a kite) talking about his parents - or the lack thereof.  The dudes in the room nodded their heads and signaled to the TV. "See! Look at this nigga, man...A waste," one of them validated.

Wayne touched on how he was a product of his environment. He explained how many like him can only express what they absorbed; what they were fed; what they saw everyday; what they heard. The point being, in so many words, what life deposits into a person is what that person spits out in return.

"This is my way of expressing that shit... " he said, after exhaling a puff of smoke.

The special continued on. They fast forwarded to a more recent clip of him as an adult. In it, he was high to the point of incoherence. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I remember that he started to get emotional and teary-eyed. Finally, I heard him mumble, "If I could do anything differently, I don't think I would. . . or could. I think I'm who I was supposed to be. I think I did what I was supposed to do."

He paused. The off-screen interviewer waited. Wayne needed a moment. "Hey, cut the camera off," he managed finally.

The dudes in the room dismissed his comments in the clip as bullshit. I intervened. My two cents: "Say what you want, but he still made a HUGE impact on millions of people. And whether you deem it positive or negative, it's both...because it could be either one to anyone in the world. " 

"Please. Buffoonery. He could've been great," one of them protested.

"He was... Maybe not to you. But he was [great]. And relevant in the eyes of millions, no less. If you could've done what he did, better than him, you would have. But you didn't. You have your own mission to accomplish instead; your own part to play." I rebutted.

At once, the voice I've come to know so well, and even expect, was audible once more.

It whispered: Every contribution is valid. Every expression's a puzzle piece. Every message will reach who it is intended to reach.

I woke up. Late.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.07.10 "The Da Vinci Mode"

"You know the deadline is near. Where's your painting, Jefferson?" a female voice said to me.

"What painting? I just got added to this class. I didn't know that was an assignment. Can't you give me an extension, if only for that reason?", I pleaded.

"No. You're capable of catching up...and so much more...," she insisted. I hated how she implied things without finishing the thought. What was the secret to the and so much more?

"But that's not fair. I wouldn't have had nearly as much time as them. Mine'll be crappy and thrown together as a result," I expressed while looking around the room at the other students' works of art in progress.

Many of them were intricate portraits of people, places, things. One of them, a fairly common-looking oil painting with no real spark to it, was of a saxophone with a red ribbon tied around it. I imagined it was Charlie Parker's, though it may not have been. I thought the red ribbon looked a lot like the HIV awareness one, and if this was not the message the artist was conveying, I thought about how it would surely be misconstrued as such. I wanted to tell the painter my theory, but thought the awareness message was better. People should think that's what it was. I would have called it "Raw Jizz Jazz". How cynical and inappropriate of me.

Another, a dark depiction of the face of a very sullen-looking woman, seemed to have eyes that peered right through me and made me want to ask it "why so sad?".  I imagined she was a gypsy or some southern creole slave with no name that mattered. Perhaps she was overworked -- like me -- and longed to dance barefoot in the rain. Probably completely off center with my guess there as well. I remember saying to myself in the dream, I always see something other than the obvious or the intended in everything.

"Fine. It'll be done. . . ", a surrender in a no-win situation, after much delay. I turned to the teacher (whose face I could not see), and sighed.

"That's more like it. You can do this..." she reassured me. I hate motivators, too. I wanted to be a jerk. YOU DO IT, THEN.

"By the deadline though. . .?" I whined instead. How rhetorical. I knew the unyielding answer - times infinity.

"Yes. A body of work. By the deadline," she emphasized with gritted teeth.  She didn't have to stress the point, I thought.

"And I assure you, it'll be a masterpiece, young Da Vinci." she reinforced, with a smile in her voice that knew many things that I am not privy to.


My alarm clock intervened in reality. I woke up thinking: Oh. Right. Work. Ugh. (Expletive). 


- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.04.10

Memory has betrayed me as it pertains to the details of last night's whirlwind of night visions. Only about 2 random things stand out. Random is an understatement by the way, but it's my favorite word. I'll use it as I please (out of context or not), and you'll say nothing against it. Ahem.

Here are the 2 things:

• In one dream, I was being interviewed by the good people at MTV. They were asking me how I felt about being an artist who doubles as a writer & director (?) for other artists as well.  Lauren Hill popped up at MTV headquarters and chimed in during the interview, offering me some encouragement. "Pick up where I left off. Continue the mission," she said. I woke up at 3am. 

• Upon falling asleep again, I dreamed I was attending some sort of event at Rice U, and I was responding to the flirtatious advances of a really charming Asian dude with crazy hair like Goku. (#random shrug...lol)

Dreams are awesome. Can I get some of this action going in my waking life, already? Geez.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.01.10

I've been slacking on documenting my dreams, as you may have deduced by the dwindling and/or insufficient number of entries regarding them. That's not to say I haven't been dreaming. I always do.  Several times a night, in fact.

There was a different male figure in them this time though, acting in the place of the usual star player.  Perhaps on the other side (dream land, that is) the story of the other me's life is shifting.  The new actor is someone I do know pretty well in my waking life this time, and who is actually a friend.

I won't go into the details, because they're a little too personal to share. However, I get the feeling that the dream world is attempting to elude to the fact that there are some underlying themes in my waking life that I should take notice of as it relates to this person. Usually there is a flicker of "something" in reality that is synonymous with the subconscious realm; a barely noticeable connection tying the two. . .

I'll keep my eyes peeled and remain open & observant. I'm not the best at detecting subtle hints by any means, but if you point me in the right direction, I'm on the scent with the precision of a blood hound.  Even in silent inconspicuousness.  No, not even. Especially so.


- kj

Chore Shrug

There is a mountain of clothes staring at me in the corner of my room. Sir Fredrick climbed it earlier. Must be some chihuahua humor I've not yet learned to appreciate. Jerk.

The new dish washing liquid I purchased a week ago says it's supposed to soften my hands with each use. Is that some twisted form of motivation to get me to wash dishes more? Epic fail.

Laundry is the devil. Doing the dishes is its concubine. They can all kick rocks tonight.

Where is the Rosie robot maid from The Jetsons when you need her?


-kj

Possible Impossibilities #1

When the sun was no more than a few months old, I dreamed we were visiting my grandmother's house. The family there is thoroughly indoctrinated and devoutly Christian. Assume what you will here. Read between the lines.

So anyway, in the dream, I lay my little one down on the couch to sleep, and join a conversation about who-knows-what with my kin. While slumbering, the sun begins to physically levitate in his sleep, lifting as much as 8 or 9 inches off of the couch. 

My family is in shock. They all watch in silent awe and slight disgust, until one of them breaks the silence and asks "Kim what have you been teaching him? This is wrong. People are not supposed to do that."

I reply, "I teach him he can be anything. . . do anything. That there are no limits. I teach him to question, to explore, and to defy the odds. . . to fly." 

The relative who broke the silence shakes her head and says "That is a sin against God. People can't fly. You're going to Hell."

I pick up the sun and leave. Then, I wake up. 

Fast forward to yesterday. The sun (who is now a budding young 6th grader) and I are spending quality time together. He initiates a random conversation out of the blue (as he so often does) about whatever's on his mind at the moment. This time, it is about his dreams. 

"Oh mama...." (the way he always starts the conversation when he's been dying to tell me something but until that point had not been able to find the right words to do so)..."I had this weird dream. Well, I think it was a dream. It seemed like I was awake though. I could see everything in the room. But I fell asleep right here on the floor last night while I was watching TV, and then I just started floating a few inches off the floor. I didn't want to move, because I thought I would fall down. It seemed real. . .Has that happened to you before?" 

I remembered my dream from years ago then. I'd never shared any of them with him.  Guess this is a sign that it's time to start.  I rummaged through tablet upon tablet of old notes and scattered thoughts with dust collected on them to find where I'd written that one down. I had to be sure I wasn't imagining things. 

Found it. I wasn't. I shared it with him. 

I spent the rest of yesterday in somewhat of a quiet contemplative state, wandering aimlessly about the possibilities of the impossible...like "flying" when you're hard-wired to believe you can not. 

Or is it a safer practice to not partake in that fruit? 

- kj

The Technolution Will Not Be Televised

Technology is the most progressive hinderance of all time.  Convenience breeds laziness, I believe. The gadgetry of our day makes us do incredibly idiotic things, like text someone you're sitting in the same room with or forget what 12 x 12 = because you've always had some tool to compute it for you.  And you think nothing of it.  I of course am no exception.

What if one day our endless array of electronics realized their own power and decided to revolt? What if that iPod, iPhone, iPad, etc suddenly had a spark of independent thought? What if -- instead of silently bending to our commands and following orders to access our info, play our music, dial this person or that one, compile & house data for this or that end -- it one day said "no more"?

As of late, I've had day-dreams of technology developing a sense of superiority and maximizing on its innate ability to captivate us so. And I wonder if their revolution will be televised...or if the television sets will have gone on strike that day.



- kj